A/N: *tiptoes in while you're sleeping*
*tucks the new chapter under the corner of your pillow*
*ruffles your hair affectionately*
*backs out of the room and closes the door*
*cackles manically*
*mwahahaha!*
xx-Kitten.
Darkness and Silence
By Kittenshift17
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hermione groaned as she stretched luxuriantly in the big soft bed. The faintest glow of moonlight was streaming through the window and Hermione could tell the world was dark. She frowned as she blinked opened her eyes, sitting up in bed slowly and trying to make sense of where she was and what day it was. She supposed, based on the silence within the house, that it must be very late and that she'd slept through the remainder of Christmas day.
She couldn't bring herself to care. She was in no fit state for company, if she was being honest, and she'd really rather just go back to sleep. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She didn't want to have to defend her actions for having originally shagged Severus. She didn't want to talk about how that shagging was the stepping stone that had paved the way for her to end up married to him. She didn't want to fight with Harry, or explain herself to Molly, or put up with Ginny bitching her out.
Indeed, as she sat there in the enormous bed, Hermione didn't think she'd ever felt so alone and she put her face in her hands, trying to will away the thoughts that plagued her. She couldn't do this. She couldn't allow herself to fall pregnant for the sake of the war. She couldn't carry a baby in her womb for nine months only to give it up and watch that monster wearing its body around. She couldn't bear the thought. She couldn't stand the idea of doing that to herself or to Snape, and even knowing it was the only way to control when Voldemort would be able to be killed by Harry, it wasn't something that sat well inside her mind.
She was angry. She wanted to cry. She wanted her Mum, if she was being honest. She wanted someone to smooth their fingers through her hair and to tell her everything was going to be alright, and to tell her there was another way. Surely, there was another way.
But there wasn't. Well, there was, but it involved Carrow and Dolohov taking the place of her and Snape, and there was no guarantee that Harry would be able to win against Voldemort when he wore such a body. No, if Hermione carried his vessel to term, it would be born powerful, but there were things she could do to weaken him. Hermione knew there were things she could take, things she could inject, and things she could do that would subtly weaken the body that Lord Voldemort intended to steal. She could summarily poison it just enough that when Voldemort claimed it, it might not survive the ritual, or might fail on him at any given moment once he was in it.
Gritting her teeth on her morbid thoughts, Hermione tried to put it all out of her mind. It was something she didn't have to think about for a few months, at least. Not with the contraceptive Snape had given her last night racing through her system.
Her bond to him throbbed numbly as she thought of him, her soul tingling with the yearning to see him again, the magic almost stinging because she'd spent so much time outside of his presence when their marriage was still so new. Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to stay away from him for long, but she doubted she would be able to return to Selwyn Hall this evening. It was too late in the evening, and Severus had warned her that she would need to be careful, lest she be drawn into the darkness and depravity the Death Eaters had planned.
No, the safest thing to do would be to stay here and to just avoid Harry until he'd had a chance to cool down. Then again, she needed clothes and her trunk from there. It seemed foolish to her now, that she'd taken her trunk there last night. She could always go back and risk running into the other Death Eaters. Severus might be there. She was sure that she'd feel better if she could just burrow into his embrace, or even if she could just feel him driving himself into her so hard and deep that she could feel it in the back of her throat.
Scrubbing her hands over her face, Hermione threw off the covers and swung her feet out of bed. She noticed that she'd been put to bed still wrapped in her dress from the lunch she'd had with the brethren, and Hermione sighed, recalling that Remus had carried her to bed and tucked her in. She was eternally grateful that the werewolf hadn't pushed her or seemed too judgmental about her involvement with Severus – a feat in itself given their less than pleasant association, their unfortunate history, and Remus having once been a teacher, too.
Her stomach rumbled as she stood and stretched again, and Hermione sighed. She supposed she would have to brave the kitchens here or return to Selwyn Hall if she wanted something to eat. Figuring she'd need her trunk, Crookshanks, and her pyjamas, Hermione slipped her feet back into her boots and located the travelling cloak Remus must've unfastened for her when he'd put her to bed.
She was silent as she tripped down the many stairs toward the front door of Grimmauld Place, hoping against hope that she wouldn't run into anyone. The late hour practically guaranteed it, but she was still worried as she traversed the many stairs past muttering portraits and the bedrooms that housed her friends. She heard snoring coming from the room Ron and Harry shared, and Hermione smiled ruefully, knowing the sound was coming from Ron. She was tempted to forget her trunk and her hunger and just crawl into bed next to the red-haired wizard to let him hold her until she felt better, but she didn't go inside. She didn't want to face Harry so soon.
Continuing down through the house, Hermione passed Remus's door and noticed that it was open, the bed rumpled, but empty. She frowned, wondering if the werewolf was on duty somewhere tonight or if he'd finally let Tonks seduce him. Shaking her head, she continued down, passing the door to the room she usually shared with Ginny. Hermione stopped when a sound from inside the room caught her attention.
The door was ever so slightly ajar, and Hermione frowned, tiptoeing over and pushing it a little wider to investigate the noise, wondering if Ginny was having a nightmare.
She almost swallowed her tongue when she saw something other than the redhead sleeping fitfully. Stretched on his back on top of Ginny's bed, stark naked, was Harry Potter. Hermione's cheeks flushed crimson when she noticed that Ginny was straddling him, rocking herself up and down as she rode him. She blinked stupidly for a moment before quickly looking away and pulling the door closed as quietly as she could.
She frowned as she stood outside the door, wondering when that had become a thing. Perhaps this was their first time? Hermione didn't know. Ginny had fancied Harry forever, and she'd known that Harry was interested in Ginny, too. She just hadn't known they'd begun seeing each other, or that they were shagging. She'd accused Harry of being a virgin when she'd been hissing at him about not understanding sex and not judging her for shagging Severus.
Clearly, she'd been wrong. Hermione wondered if Ron knew his best mate was shagging his sister. She wondered if Harry might be in a better bloody mood tomorrow, since he was getting laid. She wondered if she should say something to either of them. She wondered if she was a hypocrite for feeling hurt that Ginny hadn't told her about this. She supposed she had no right to know. She'd never told Ginny that she'd been shagging Ron over the summer, and she'd definitely never mentioned that she'd been shagging Snape until this whole mess. She could hardly be put out with Ginny for not telling her that she and Harry were finally getting somewhere when she'd been less than forthcoming, herself.
Shaking her head, Hermione hurried down the stairs and to the door, letting herself out of the house and disapparating directly onto the grounds at Selwyn Hall. Despite the winter chill in the air, Hermione stood outside the enormous house for a long moment simply looking up at it. It really was impressive, and she could feel the magic in the currents under her feet, humming with delight that she'd returned.
There were no lights on inside the house, and Hermione was relieved, supposing that must mean that she was alone on the property. She knew it was for the best. Wherever Severus was, he was probably doing or witnessing something unspeakable, and if the Death Eaters weren't here, then she was better off. Even if she did kind of miss the snarky git.
She sighed softly, shaking her head to herself and reminding herself that up until yesterday, they'd only shagged twice – well three times, if more than one time in a single day counted - and he'd been avoiding her like the plague after that. He'd gone out of his way to keep from having to interact with her more than once, even if he had summoned her into his office a time or two thanks to her detentions; and he'd tolerated her invasions when she demanded her answers about this mess and the Darkness infecting her soul. She tried to remind herself that when term resumed, she would have to pretend that she was merely his student and that she had never seen him naked. She'd been doing that already, of course, but she suspected that up until now it had been made easier by the fact that outside of the days she had lessons, she never actually had to see him when they were both at Hogwarts. She didn't have to look in the direction of the staff table during meals to watch him pick over his food and grit his teeth through interacting with his colleagues.
She didn't have to trail along his most common patrol routes to see if she might run into him by 'accident'. She didn't have to give in to the stupid crush she'd been nursing for the man for months and months. She could exhibit a little restraint and just pretend he was merely her surly teacher, and nothing more.
Frowning to herself when she recalled that he might very well begin attempting to get her pregnant in short order on Voldemort's command, and thus, might begin seeking her out more purposefully whilst they were both at the school, Hermione supposed she would need to be on the lookout more often. As long as the contraceptive was in her system, it wouldn't matter, but when it wore off, he would surely begin attempting to corner her and shag her at every opportunity for the sake of knocking her up, and Hermione wasn't having it.
Come the end of March, she would be susceptible to pregnancy, once more, and then she would need to look out. If she could avoid getting pregnant to begin with, she would be better off. She doubted it would be healthy or all that safe for her to be inducing miscarriages herself if and when she got pregnant. Grumbling to herself under her breath, Hermione stomped through the snow toward the house, pushing open the front door with a little more force than necessary.
A low growl met her ears and Hermione narrowed her eyes, lighting the tip of her wand and trying to determine if the sound was emitting from Greyback, or from Crookshanks. When the glow of her wand-tip reflected from the large, eerily glowing green eyes of the werewolf guarding the door, Hermione curled her lip.
"Greyback, if you so much as bare your fangs at me, I swear to Merlin I will make you regret it," she hissed at the werewolf, glaring down her nose at him even as she flicked her wand and lit every lantern in the house.
The wolf rose from the spot where he laid on the cushion, blinking blearily at the sudden inundation of light, and Hermione bared her teeth at the wolf when he immediately invaded her space, sniffing her frantically. She knew he'd be able to smell Remus all over her, and would likely be reacting to it, but she didn't care. She was in no mood for being snarled at by some murderous and cannibalistic monster and she was only too willing to take her rapidly worsening mood out on whoever got in her way.
The feel of his nose brushing her chest, her stomach, and then lower made her reach for him without even thinking, and the werewolf snarled angrily when she took hold of his ear and twisted it painfully in punishment for his sticking his nose between her legs.
"If I want someone sticking their nose between my legs, Greyback, I'll seek out my husband," she hissed at him. "I don't care if you are simply reacting to Remus's scent, you will treat me with a little respect, or I will evict you from this house. Is that clear?"
He narrowed his eyes on her angrily, yanking his ear out of her grip and circling her, still breathing in her scent.
"I will also have you know that after a brief, but thorough interaction with Moony, I am not linked to Remus's pack, and that I smell like him because my magical depletion got the best of me in his company and he was forced to tuck me into bed. While he may not be my alpha based on pack-bond, Moony is fond of me and cares for me like I'm his pup. And I swear to Merlin, if you sniff me arse, I'm going to kick you in the ribs."
Greyback huffed at her before very deliberately sniffing her arse and Hermione levelled a kick in his direction in her fury. He dodged it, emitting a soft sound like laughter before he transformed right in front of her. Hermione watched with no small amount of awe as the werewolf rose to his full human height, curling the wolf-skin around himself like a bathrobe and very considerately covering his naked form as best he could without real clothing.
"Bit late, aren't you, girly?" Greyback asked, smirking wickedly at her and not looking at all repentant for sniffing her so inappropriately.
"I haven't actually looked at the time," Hermione admitted.
"A few hours off dawn," Greyback said, shifting his shoulder slightly as though needing to get used to human form once more.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione wanted to know, crossing the entranceway to hang her travelling cloak on the hook by the door before making a beeline in the direction of the kitchen.
"I told you I'd be here until the Dark Lord orders otherwise," Greyback said, dogging her steps down the hall and into the kitchen.
Not even the elves were still awake at the late hour, but Hermione didn't mind. Flicking her wand to light the lanterns and to stoke the hearth, she crossed the kitchen to the pantry and began digging out the ingredients to make herself a toasted sandwich.
"Are you hungry?" Hermione asked of the werewolf behind her, noticing the way he stood awkwardly in the kitchen as though he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself.
"Offering yourself to me already, girly?" Greyback taunted.
"I get the feeling that, even if I were, attempts to act on such notions would be short-lived when my vows ignited, Mr Greyback," Hermione drawled in response, finding that it was best not to bother being offended when dealing with Death Eaters and men who made up the less savory half of their society, because scandal in the face of their suggestiveness only encouraged them.
"Pity, that," Greyback grinned. "What're you making?"
"Toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches," Hermione shrugged.
"Never had one," he said, frowning at her.
Hermione turned to look at him fully, midway through slicing a tomato, her brow furrowed.
"Really?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"How long have you been a werewolf, Mr Greyback?" Hermione asked curiously.
"I was born this way," he informed her.
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said, beginning to fix enough sandwiches to feed… well… a hungry werewolf. "The condition cannot be passed on genetically via reproduction. Pack bonds can, but the actual affliction cannot."
"And how would you know?"
"I'm living proof," she said. "I have no immediate relatives who are werewolves, I am not a werewolf, and yet I carry a pack bond to someone."
"No, girly. What you carry is the tiny fostering of an undisturbed wolf. It's right there in your genetic make-up, it just hasn't been stirred to great enough ire to infect you and activate the curse."
"You know the curse can only be passed on via a bite, Mr Greyback," Hermione argued.
"If that were the case, where did the infection come from, eh? Someone had to be patient zero, and as such, can't have been bitten."
"They can't have simply had it in their genes, either. Not unless they were some heinously monstrous devil-spawn resultant of beastiality. Everything I've researched points toward the drinking of rain water on a full moon night from the footprint of a wolf, actually. It's believed that's where the affliction started."
"Did your textbooks tell you that, little girl?" he taunted softly from across the room where he'd lowered himself into the same chair from the night before, patiently watching her make them both something to snack on.
"As a matter of fact, they did."
"Books published by wizards rarely inform all the facts about werewolves, girly," he told her. "No one ever gets close enough to learn the whole truth and lives to tell the tale."
"Most of the sources I read were actually written by werewolves," Hermione argued.
"Yeah, werewolves like Lupin, who've never run with the pack beneath the glow of the full moon, and never ripped into hot flesh with sharp fangs. Werewolves who've never known the thrill of the hunt and the intoxicating scent of fear poisoning their minds to all but the bloodlust," Greyback said quietly. "Trust me, girly, the truth about werewolves and our origins isn't written in some book."
"Then where is it?" she asked curiously as she assembled the sandwiches for the two of them and began toasting them in the frypan.
Greyback shrugged. "Closest I've ever heard is that a wizard who could do animagi fucked a she-wolf and the resultant offspring were werewolves."
Hermione wrinkled her nose, though she'd actually heard the idea once before.
"You really think people are born with a lycanthropic gene? After all, you weren't born a werewolf. You still had to be bitten to activate it, didn't you?"
"I was bitten the minute I came out of the womb," Fenrir admitted shrugging. "Already had the gene, or I wouldn't be a werewolf, see? If you're not predisposed to it, you don't have the fight inside of you to survive when the mutation kicks in, no matter the powdered silver and dittany paste. If you don't got the gene – meaning you don't got the little, undisturbed wolf – then you don't survive the bite. I could bite you on the next full moon and that little wolf inside of you would activate, allowing you to survive the bite, even if you didn't use the paste."
"You have to use the paste, or you die," Hermione argued.
"The only wolf I've ever made who used the paste was Lupin, girly," he argued quietly. "The rest, I just seek out the ones who can handle the bite, and let nature take its course."
"Then why bother with the paste?" she frowned. "It's written into the laws of magical healing that it's the only way to prevent death from a werewolf bite."
"Sometimes people get lucky," he shrugged. "You? You've got the wolf right there under your skin, girly. I can smell her, and I can almost see her. Means that whoever your sire was, he's powerful. Old. Definitely been a wolf a long time."
"My sire would be my muggle father. He is not a werewolf, is not old, and is not really all that powerful," she informed him.
"You sure he's your daddy?" Fenrir challenged.
"I have his eyes," Hermione said. "I'm sure. My parents did tests on my when I began showing signs of being magical."
"Then you've got a grandparent who's a wolf."
"I've met all of my grandparents, Fenrir. None of them are magical. None of them are werewolves."
'You sure about that? There's absolutely no chance that maybe your granny fucked around and got knocked up before she had your daddy? If you've got his eyes, you got the wolf gene from him, girly."
"You're suggesting my paternal grandmother had an affair?" she scoffed. "Come on."
Fenrir didn't look at all like he was joking even as she brought him a plate stacked high with toasted sandwiches.
"When we finish these, you're gonna bathe, girly," he informed her quietly, and Hermione frowned as she sat down opposite him, surprised by the quiet intensity in his eyes.
He was looking at her in the same way Remus had done, almost like he thought she was something small and cute, and something that he was curious about.
"Why? You think I stink?" she asked. "You can hardly talk, Mr Greyback. When was the last time you showered? You're literally grimy."
She licked her thumb before reaching for his hand, smearing the wetted digit over the back of his hand and showing him the way the grime on his skin shifted. He frowned at the appendage for a minute.
"Reckon you want to share a shower with me, girly?" he asked, smirking.
"Not even a little bit," Hermione shook her head, smirking. "I think that if I did, I'd end up squished in the corner. Even this place doesn't have a shower big enough to hold you if someone else is in there with you."
He smirked, before ripping into one of the sandwiches she'd made for him savagely.
"You're a curious little thing, girly. You're not afraid of me, are you?" he asked, tipping his head to one side.
Hermione contemplated him.
"I don't trust you," she admitted, frowning as she regarded him. "But no, I'm not afraid of you."
"You said you had an encounter with Lupin's wolfish side tonight, too?" he asked. "Were you afraid when the wolf took hold of him?"
Hermione smiled.
"No," she admitted. "I'm not afraid of Moony. I… well, actually, whenever the wolf stirs in him I…"
Fenrir raised a dark eyebrow at her around a mouthful of his food.
"You wanna fuck him?" he guessed.
"No," Hermione shook her head. "No, I've never really been struck by desire when I look at him or talk to him. I just want to… be close to him. I want to touch him, but not in a sexual way… When Moony took control tonight, I… well, I touched his teeth."
"Did his fangs grow in?" Greyback asked when he'd swallowed. "Like mine?"
He pointed to his own too-sharp fangs inside his mouth that were very evidently the teeth of a wolf even though they were in the mouth of a man.
"Not like that, no," she shook her head, feeling the strangest urge to touch his teeth, too. "Not as sharp or as canine. Mostly his human teeth sharpened enough to look unusual, but not unnatural."
"He let you touch them?" Greyback wanted to know.
"He didn't want me to stop," Hermione said. "Even when Moony relinquished control back to Remus, he didn't want me to stop. Remus whimpered when I pulled my hand away, and he licked me here, right between my eyes, when both Moony and Remus were in control."
She pointed to her forehead where Remus had licked her. And she squeaked in surprised when Greyback lunged across the table, closing the distance between them and sniffing her there intently.
"Like a pup," he muttered, before he pulled back. "You… You've wanted to touch his teeth before, yeah? And maybe wanted to play with his hair, and scratch behind his ears, and toy with his fingers, right? Maybe snuggle up with him every now and then?"
Hermione nodded. "I've snuggled up and shared the couch in the library, and sometimes a blanket and a book with him before."
"In a sexual manner?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Just in an urge to be close and provided comfort and draw comfort from him, too. He doesn't allow it very often. Usually only in the lead up to, or directly following a full moon. The rest of the time he's friendly enough, but not really that affectionate."
"No, he wouldn't be, unless the wolf is close to the surface," Greyback said. "Tell me something, girly."
"What?" she asked.
"You want to touch my teeth right now?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow and pulling his lips back to reveal his sharp fangs.
Hermione almost trembled in her seat.
"I…" she frowned, her fingers positively itching to touch his teeth. "Yes. Yes, I want to."
"They're sharp," he warned even as he leaned forward, inviting her to touch him.
Hermione couldn't resist. Without thinking, she reached out and smoothed her thumb along one of his incisors.
"Your Daddy's a dentist, yeah?" he asked softly, his eyelids lowering to half-mast when she tested the sharp point of his incisor against the pad of her thumb, putting a little tear in the top epidermal layer.
"He is," she admitted.
"Likes touching people's teeth too, then?" he asked. "You ever wanted to touch anyone else's?"
"No," Hermione admitted in a murmur, frowning. "Only yours and Remus's. I don't think I've ever…. Wait…."
She trailed off, frowning intensely as she touched Greyback's teeth, going so far as to set down her food and climb out of her chair, rounding the small table and invading his space until she was inside his personal space, her knees balanced on the seat of his chair in the space between his spread legs while both of her hands fondled his teeth.
"There was a man…" she whispered, a memory surfacing from the depths of her brain. "I don't remember his name. He used to come to the park where I played as a girl… there was a small woodland on one side. He'd always lean against the trees there and watch me. I remember going over to him one day when the other kids had pushed me off the swings and I'd skinned my palms."
She didn't notice it when Greyback lifted his arms to encircle her small waist in his large hands, the heat of them penetrating through the cloth of her dress.
"He licked them clean," she whispered, caught in the memory. "And when he was done, he let me touch his teeth and sit on his tummy while he leaned against a tree inside the woods."
"Did he hurt you?" Greyback asked, though his voice was husky and soft as though he were distracted.
"No," Hermione whispered. "He held me when I cried because the muggle children were mean to me and he let me play with his teeth and his hair, and I think I fell asleep on his chest. I woke up in my bed the next morning and he was gone, and Mum didn't know how I'd gotten home. I was only five at the time."
"Do you remember what he looked like?" Greyback asked.
Hermione closed her eyes, pulling at the threads of the memory.
"He had eyes like mine," she whispered. "Dark brown, but with a glimmer of magic in them. Sandy hair. It was long, like yours, and tangled. He smelled like the woods. Like loam and dirt and rain."
"Did he have a scar down the left side of his face?" Fenrir whispered.
Hermione's brow furrowed. "Yes," she murmured. "From the corner of his left eye and running down his cheek and halfway down his neck. Three lines. Claw marks. I traced them with my fingers and he nuzzled against my hands. He… he bit me."
Hermione opened her eyes abruptly when Greyback moved and she sliced open the pad of her thumb on the point of his right incisor.
"Ouch," she said.
She made to lift the appendage to her mouth, but before she could, he caught her wrist and took the digit between his lips, growling softly at the taste of her blood.
"Greyback," she warned when he closed his eyes and suckled her thumb, drawing the blood into his mouth.
"Trust me, girly," he murmured when he let her pull her hand away.
His hands were still wrapped around her waist snugly, and she was well within his personal space. The taste of her blood had deepened the colour of his eyes to a rich, burnished gold.
"You should let go," she said, frowning and wondering why her bonds to Severus weren't stinging when he was touching her so intimately.
"Let me see that bite," he commanded quietly. "You said the wolf in the park bit you. Show me where."
Hermione frowned, recalling the memory she'd spoken of and reaching a hand to the back of her neck behind her ear. Twisting her head and shifting her hair to the side, Hermione's fingers sought out the feel of a faded scar right at the base of her hairline about two inches behind her left ear. She could feel the smooth skin where it had scarred, and she twisted in Greyback's grip to reveal the bite to him, needing someone else to confirm that it was there.
He used his grip on her waist to turn her body and Hermione squeaked in surprise when the huge werewolf tugged her down to perch on his lap, one his large hands smoothing around to rest intimately against her stomach while the other tangled in her hair, tipping her head to better allow him to see the scar.
"Did it hurt?" he asked. "When he bit you, did you cry?"
Hermione frowned, holding very still when the werewolf leaned into her, pressing his nose against the scar.
"No," she said, frowning, though she knew it should've done, she couldn't remember it hurting when she'd been bitten. She hadn't remembered ever meeting the man or being bitten by him until that very moment, in fact.
"Did he ever hurt you?" Fenrir asked, his hot breath ghosting over the nape of her neck in a way that ought to have unsettled her.
She wondered what to make of it when it neither terrified, sickened, or aroused her.
"I don't think so," Hermione said. "Other than the bite, but I don't recall it hurting. I only remember touching his teeth and telling him about how mean the other kids were to me and sitting with him until I fell asleep. He must've known where I lived and carried me home."
"Do you remember how old he looked?" he asked.
Hermione frowned.
"In his thirties, maybe?" she said.
"How old do I look, to you?" he asked, surprising her.
Hermione frowned, turning and tracing her eyes over him as she climbed back out of his lap. She was surprised when he let her without trying to stop her.
"About the same," she said. "Maybe thirty-five?"
His lips pulled up at one corner.
"I'll be eighty-seven next month," he informed her. "Did your wolf look older or younger than me?"
"Older," she said. "Maybe thirty-eight or thirty-nine. Forty at a stretch."
"So probably older than a hundred," Greyback murmured. "Definitely a werewolf. Your sire, I'd wager. Let me see those eyes."
He rose swiftly to his full height, standing close enough that their chests brushed together. Hermione had to tip her head back to hold his gaze as he towered over her. He leaned down a little, staring directly into her eyes and Hermione wondered what he was looking for. She blinked nervously when his eyes suddenly brightened from burnished gold all the way through to a colour so bright it made her feel like she was looking directly into the sun.
His hand came up to cup her chin when she tried to look away, holding her still and forcing her to hold his gaze as he lowered his head closer and closer to hers until their foreheads touched. For several long minutes, he simply stared into her eyes and she got the feeling the colour of his eyes and whatever he was doing was some lycanthropic magic.
When her eyes began to water and a low whine tore from her throat, he let her go, chuckling a little and blinking that brightness of his eyes. Hermione stepped back from him, rubbing her eyes and trying to ignore the strangest tingle coursing through her limbs like something inside of her was waking up and stretching languidly.
"What did you do?" she asked, feeling more than a bit lightheaded and jelly legged.
"Took a look at that little wolf hiding inside your soul," he murmured, and Hermione blinked stupidly when the sadistic werewolf carded his fingers gently through her hair.
"And?" she asked.
"And I know who your sire is," he said in a low voice. "Might be high time I paid him a visit, too. Tell me something, girly?"
"What now?" She asked. "Whatever you did made me really dizzy."
"Mmmm, you've all but depleted your magic and you need rest. Getting a look at that little she-wolf inside woke up some of the latent lycanthrope magic inside of you. You're probably feeling tingly and weak-kneed, as well as dizzy."
"I am," she muttered.
"Tell me this, then, girly, and we'll get you tucked away in bed," he said softly, sounding almost fond of her. "Now that we know who your sire is, and we know you don't share a pack-bond with Lupin, what are you going to do? The Dark Lord told Snape tonight about his little plan to use you as an incubator to cook himself up a body. Snape wasn't happy."
"What did he say?"
"That you'd abort any kid you caught without even telling him unless he told you the truth, and that if you knew the truth, you'd abort any pup he fucked into you just for spite to keep the Dark Lord from getting his hands on the body," Fenrir said. "Is that true?"
Hermione blinked dizzily trying to bring him into focus and finding herself actually grateful that he had his hands tangled into her hair, otherwise she'd probably have fallen over.
"I… I'm only seventeen," she whispered. "I'm still in high school. And it's not the right time for Voldemort and Harry to face off whilst actually able to kill each other."
"You mean to make it so that those bits of his soul that he's ripped away are all gone before letting them fight each other," Greyback said seriously, and Hermione marveled at his ability to figure that out so easily.
"Until the other bits of his soul are destroyed, killing him with be for nothing," she said. "We could kill him now and he'd just be a wraith, forced to find another body to possess until he could re-do the potion he used to make the body he's got now, or until such time that he could steal a baby, just the same. We have to kill off all the other bits first before the part inhabiting his body now can be extinguished. Like a hyrda. All the heads have to be lopped off before the body will be weak enough to expire."
"Hydra's respawn their heads whenever you chop them off," he pointed out.
"And if he knew we were extinguishing his horcruxes Voldemort would just try to make more so that he can live forever," she nodded. "He can't know we're destroying them until the end, so he can't have a body that will let him fight Harry and die until the horcruxes are gone. If he gets one, he'll kill Harry before we're ready, and even if the rest of us kill off the body he's inhabiting, he'll live on and rise again and again, only without a fated Chosen One to end his reign of terror."
"That's a yes, then?" Greyback asked. "You'll terminate any pup Snape shoot into you."
"Only until the time is right," she whispered. "I know you wanted to end the torment sooner, rather than later, but that might be impossible."
"If you lose too many, the Dark Lord will know you're sabotaging the pregnancies," he warned her.
"I had every intention of making them look like accidents. I will prolong the length of time before I fall pregnant, and fabricate lies about possible infertility thanks to Dolohov's curse. And just when they are thinking of giving up, I will let myself fall pregnant and tell them, giving them hope, before terminating if Harry's not ready, yet."
"They'll know," he warned her.
"Not if they don't tell me it's their intention to make me pregnant," she shook her head. "Severus won't tell me. He knows I wouldn't agree to being pregnant at seventeen when I'm still in school. He knows he'd lose his job if word got out that we're married. He knows that even if he came to me and did tell me I needed to get pregnant on the Dark Lord's orders, I'd run before I'd allow it. He'll keep it from me until he has no other choice but to admit the truth of his intentions, or right up until I give birth and the Dark Lord crushes the soul out of my son. I expect that when I do fall pregnant, they'll also test me to learn the sex of the child and force me to miscarry if it's a girl."
"You won't survive that, girly," Greyback muttered, his eyes wide like he couldn't believe his ears. "I've seen into your soul, little moonlight. You're not cut out for a heartless existence."
"What choice do I have?" she asked. "If I don't do it, he'll jus make Carrow and Dolohov carry the kid, and then I'll have no control over when he gets his body."
"Better her than you, little one," Greyback whispered.
"Last night you were saying that if I couldn't do it, you'd rip my throat out," she said.
"Last night was different," he said. "I didn't know what I know now. I didn't know whose pack you belonged to, then."
"Does it make such a difference now that you do?" she asked, frowning at him.
"Yes," he said gruffly, his eyes wide as he regarded her like he wasn't sure he could believe what he'd learned.
"Why?" she asked warily. "Whose pack do I belong to? Who is my sire?"
"He's your real granddaddy, little moonlight," Fenrir whispered. "His name is Oberon."
"Oberon?" Hermione asked, testing the name, not sure she wanted to believe she had a grandfather who was a werewolf. "Oberon who?"
Greyback's mouth twisted uncomfortably like he didn't know if he wanted to snarl or smile.
"Oberon Greyback," he said in a gruff voice, his fingernails scraping delightfully against her scalp. "My big brother."
Hermione wondered if it was exhaustion or shock that drove her into unconsciousness.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Fenrir Greyback caught the little witch when she sagged in his arms, her mind giving out thanks to the effect of his scan deep into her magic and her wolfish heritage.
"Yeah," he muttered, his lips twitching just a bit as he stooped to scoop the tiny witch into his arms, intent on carrying her to bed. "I thought you might react like that, little moonlight."
He shook his head, carefully maneuvering through the kitchen door and striding through the house in the direction of the bedroom she'd shared with Snape the night before. She was his bloody niece. Well, his great niece, he supposed.
Oberon had a muggle son and witchy granddaughter.
Of course, he fucking did. The bloody bastard. Worse, the cunt obviously knew about the girl, since he'd bitten her and he'd held her and he looked after her when she'd been young. He knew about her and he'd obviously not been around in a while, since the girl was still human and not a werewolf. Maybe he was biding his time.
Maybe he'd left the country. It's been at least fifteen years since Fenrir had seen his big brother. And he'd spent a lifetime building a pack of his own and squirming his way free out from under their father's heavy paw. Born to different mothers, and infected by their mothers at birth, rather than their father, they didn't even technically belong to the same pack, which was why he didn't share a pack bond with the little bitch.
No wonder Lupin had taken a shine to her. No wonder he'd taken a shine to her, himself.
And not in a sexual manner. This little witch did nothing to stir the urge to fuck in his blood. No, she did something far worse; she stirred up his instinct to protect, and she stirred up his curiosity. And he did want to protect her, he realized. He'd realized it last night in the kitchen when he'd taken her hands. He doubted there was anything he could do to hurt this little witch. Even if the Dark Lord ordered him under pain of death, he doubted he'd be able to rip her throat out.
He doubted he'd even be able to turn her. His tongue still stung with the flavor of her blood where she'd cut her finger on his fangs. He'd known then, the minute he tasted her blood and tasted that sharp sting, that she was family. And fucking Jupiter, she stirred up his urge to protect her with all the ferocity he'd feel were she his very own daughter, rather than just his niece. He'd bet Lupin could feel it too. They weren't Pack, but they were Sire and Pup. He'd bitten that pup and infected him with lycanthropy. That practically made him family. Hell, the pup didn't know about the two days he'd spent tending that kid and caring for him before Lyall fucking Lupin had hunted him down and stolen the boy back.
The kid was practically his prodigal son in all but blood, and the wolf in him clearly recognized the family of the wolf who'd made him, even if he didn't know that's what he'd recognized in her. He'd bet they acted like Alpha and cub, in fact. He'd bet the fucker cared for the girl like she was his very own daughter, even if he didn't know what to do with the emotions and the instincts most of the time.
He'd been licking her between the eyes, and Fenrir knew that was the first sign. Hell, as he strode into the girl's bedroom and peeled back the covers before laying her down on the mattress, he understood that urge all too well.
"You sleep in that thing and you'll get all tanlged up, girly," he muttered to her, though she was unconscious.
The dress was too thick, and the skirt too full to be comfortable. Rolling her to her stomach, Fenrir used the tips of his claws to unzip the garment, peeling open the back of it and scooping his hands inside it around her slim torso. He lifted her right out of it like she was a ragdoll, having to use his foot to pin the garment to the bed and pull her free. She hung limp in his arms, unresponsive and deeply asleep, but when he kicked the dress off the bed and laid her back down on it in just her knickers and a camisole, she grizzled.
"Still in there then, little one," he muttered, chuckling. "Rest, girly. I reckon that bastard husband of yours will be home in short order, and he's burning like he hasn't in almost twenty years. Burning with that rage that scares the shit out of everyone he meets and drives him to cruelty like you should never know. The fucker will unleash it on you, too, I reckon. And there's nothing I can do about it, moonlight. Not when he's the one involved. Not when I've got to pretend I'm not planning to slaughter that snake-faced fucker once and for all. Not when you're so determined to rip out your own heart and let these fuckers steal your pup for their own gains. I can't let you do it, precious. You're not strong enough for that, little one. Not yet. Not ever, I hope. Don't follow in your Grandaddy's pawprints, yeah? That path only leads to heartbreak and a burning bitter rage that will consume the likes of your sweet soul."
Shaking his head to himself and carefully tucking the tiny witch beneath the thick blankets, being sure to cover her completely to ensure she wouldn't be cold, Fenrir's lips twisted into a sad smile. When he reached to brush an unruly curl from across her face, he spotted the smudge mark on the back of his hand from her thumb, recalling her suggestion that he needed a bath. Chuckling to himself and thinking that she was probably right, Fenrir leaned down and carefully licked right between her eyes.
She stopped her grizzling and emitted a sweet little sound of contentment, stilling and resting easier as he rose to his feet.
"Sleep, Granger," he murmured. "And be on your guard until I get back, yeah? If I make it back. Jupiter knows that Oberon will try and rip my throat out when he lays eyes on me after all this time."
He walked away, intent on grabbing that shower she'd suggested before intending to seek out his big brother for the first time in almost twenty years.